Inferiority Complex
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: In which Olivia is tired of coming second to herself.
1. Chapter 1

**so basically that last episode= saddening all over again. It's like, let's just kick Olivia when she's down, over and over and over again. This story is a bit of Dark!Olivia because in all honesty, you can only kick a woman so much before she decides to kick back. I hope that time is soon for us. **

I like to think of this as word throw up, because it's been floating around in my head since Saturday morning, whenI watched the episode again. It's really short actually, but i think it gets the point across somewhat well.

Rated T for language

Spoilers for 3.12 (maybe 3.14)

disclaimer: Own nothing but the typos and grammatical errors.

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The letter is curled up at the bottom of a lit oil barrel. She is burning it, along with many other items including her sheets and his clothes and her mail and anything that arrived while she was over there. She'd burn the back of her neck as well if it would rid her of the tattoo on her skin, but it won't. But she may welcome the pain it brings.

She's tired. She's sick. Mostly she is just tired, horrified and ill that she is _yet_ again second to her double. She's like her, but better. And it makes her _sick_ that it is that way. There should be no comparision. She should be the only one. There should just be one of her. And Peter Bishop surely shouldn't have had _both_ of her. If anything, he didn't even deserve one of her. But you know how things go, they never go how they should. In all honesty she should be home with John, because at least John would have seen the differences. She wished she hadn't locked away his engagement ring.

In the bitter cold of the Boston night, Olivia stood near the burning barrel with her fingers tucked in her coat and her chin nestled into her scarf. She was so tired, and it wasn't very late. She is mentally exhausted. She is just so tired of being told that she was less than her alter-self. She is tired of believing it too. The tattoo on the back of her neck burned her, it scalded her skin as she stood tall in the winter. They are around her is a circling drain of ice cold but her inside turned a white hot heat.

She knew what she needed to do.

She flirts a little more. She smiles a little more. Here and there, there is eyeliner under her emerald eyes and a clear gloss that adores her lips. She swings her hips a bit more. She laughs a little louder. She's just a little _better_ than she used to be. And it pays off too, because _he_ notices it. They all _notice _it. But they all notice it because they think that somehow, in the middle of the night, _they_ have switched again, and our Olivia is gone.

It's like a double standard in her mind, she thinks one day as she's in the lab's office. It's a double standard because _she's_ allowed to be carefree and no one noticed or even _cared_, but when it's actually her it's like everyone is constantly asking her questions she'd only know the answer to. Walter has learned more about the tests he ran on her as a child within the last hour than he'd ever remember if he were to relive them. It's not _fair_, she wants to whine, but she remembers harshly that life isn't _fair_ and she certainly doesn't deserve fairness.

But she won't go back to her old ways. She refuses to be seen as inferior Olivia because she is not, she is the original, and as much as she tells herself this, she is finding it increasingly hard to believe. Peter thinks about _her_ as if _she _were the original and Olivia was a faulty replacement. And even as she is convinced he is wrong, there are things he will do, actions she won't recognize that are just plain _wrong_ and remind her, rudely remind her that she really is the faulty defect of Peter's mind.

And that thought burns in the back of her mind.

"Stop _lying_ to me Peter!"

"I'm not!"

She is upset, face pressed nearly to his on her tiptoes as they fight, her hands little tiny fists that are shaking at her sides. She has tried and tried and _tried_ again and again to capture his attention but he ignores her, refuses her, as if she weren't there to begin with. Finally she has exploded, cracks in her icy façade that she will no longer be second best and she is fuming little puffs of steam from those vents to him, eager to tell him he is wrong.

"You think about her," she accuses and his is glaring angrily at her.

"I don't want to talk about this," he says as he turns his back to her. Olivia is violently angry. She just wants a straight answer.

"I do," she answers and he spins, his face contorted into an ugly look that she hasn't seen she since she retrieved him from Iraq so many years ago.

"What do you want to hear Olivia? I don't know what to say! I've told you everything! God I hate myself so much, just thinking about what happened!"

"But you think about her-"

"All the time," he returned, " Because she is the only memory I have of what would have been our time! I don't miss her, I really don't, I miss the time we had together, I miss the things we did-"

"Like sex," Olivia said flatly. Peter sighed.

"Of course, Livia," he said, dropping to her nickname in defeat, "I miss waking up with you. I miss touching your hair. I miss walking around in your kitchen, laughing with you when we make pancakes. Those are the moments I miss. And I will forever miss them because they will always be with _her._"

"I'm tired Peter," she admits finally, feeling defeated once again, "I'm tired of being inferior to myself."

"It's all right sweetheart, I know."

But he doesn't know.

And it's not all right.

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reviews? thoughts? Theories? Crictisim? Love? :D :D


	2. Chapter 2

**after many, many requests to turn this into a multi chaptered fic, i have decided too, andthis is where it starts. Do not fret, my youngin's, there is plenty of P.O in this fic, but there is also alot of O. AO (in a non slashy way) Anyway, it will be a dark fic, since i think Olivia needs a dark fic (there are quite alot of peterwhump!, why not oliviawhump!) So here is the next chapter, fairly short, but i think you'll kind of get the jist.**

**spoilers: all episodes.**

**Rated T for Language.**

**summary: Olivia's emotional rollercoaster. It's like her heart is a playtoy.**

**I own nothing but the typos and grammatical errors.**

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Olivia has nightmares.

She's seen a great many freaky things in her life and sometimes they haunt her in her sleep. She dreams that she is infected with that creature (not Charlie), she dreams she was unable to stop that bomb with her mind, she dreams Ella was eaten by the computer monster and she sometimes dreams that Walter had died in that basement and she couldn't do anything about it. All of these don't frighten her compared to the dream she hates. It's a fear she fears is true.

One day she will wake up and find out Peter has returned, to _her._

She's dreamed it will be the three am phone call from Walter, a _desperate, broken_ Walter who is rambling on about him just up and leaving, saying he won't be back and that he's found his place. She's dreamed it will be a day in the lab where he simply won't show up, there won't be coffee and she will be _simply_ worried. Then her worst, and darkest nightmare is that _she_ will return and _he_ will wrap his warm and strong arms around _her_ and tell her that _she_ is the one he belongs with and that _they_ would never work. The nightmares haunt past the point of exhaustion, past the point of tired, past the point of deprived. They haunt her until she can no longer stand on her two feet.

"Liv?" Peter's concerned voice haunts when she collapses to the ground in the lab "Liv, are you all right?"

_No_, she wants to say, _no I'm not._ But the words come out anyway.

"I'm fine Peter."

* * *

She finally found it.

Week after week of digging around in her place, she found the box. It was stuffed between a dresser and a wall, crammed up underneath it and as far back as possible. She knew she'd find it eventually. Satisfied she had found it, she pulled it out of its protected spot and placed it on the coffee table. It was a bit dusty, but she didn't mind, wiping it away with her hand. She pulled open the lid and smiled, just a bit.

There was a picture of John, beautiful and smiling John with his arms wrapped snugly around her. Next to that was Charlie, his arm draped over her shoulder has they smiled oh so happily together. There were other things in the box a s well, little trinkets and bobbles, pieces of paper or napkin or-was it toilet paper?- with inside jokes scrawled across them. Happy memories is what they were, locked away in box stuffed behind heels she hasn't worn in years and nesting dust bunnies. She doesn't quite know why she is searching through the box until she lays eyes on a picture of Peter that has been placed in there. She picked it up and looked at it, studying it, trying to find that happiness in the photo, searching for the laughter. But she doesn't see it. He doesn't belong in that box. There is a knock and she sets his photo down, opening the door.

"Pizza?" came Peter's voice, bringing an offering of a large box of food.

He's in the apartment before she has a chance to say no. She knows that he knows she would say no, and he's given her no chance to answer. Instead he's set the box down on the table and opened it. Olivia looks at her dust covered box just a few feet away. Maybe he belonged in that box. Maybe there were some happy memories worth preserving. He looked up at and caught her staring, his chewing slowing as he stared back, eye smoldering. Olivia shivered.

He clearly didn't belong in the box.

Yet.

* * *

She smiled today. And it was beautiful.

Or at least she thought so. With the soft yellow sunshine creating golden silk with her hair, Olivia's eyes were bright green, lit with a smile that was so carefree, so rare that she hadn't even realized it had slipped onto her face. Peter lounged next to her in the Harvard grass, his lithe body stretched out on the blanket they had set down to eat on. He had murmured something and then she burst into a beautiful smile, her eyes twinkling as she met Peter's. Then suddenly it was gone.

She had been so careful, so very careful around him. She was able to see his emotions in his eyes, read them perfectly because she _needed_ to, needed to be able to see when it was her making him love or _her_ making him love. But she let that slip away for a brief moment of happiness that she deserved. And when she looked back at him, he saw _her_ in his eyes. He must have known that she saw it too, because his smile fell and the warm sunshine suddenly felt very _very_ cold.

"Olivia-"

"It's okay, I get it," she said, standing up and brushing herself off. She looked up at the sky, feeling cold and stupid for letting herself slip. Peter sighed and smacked his hand against his pants. They were back to this. She stared down at him.

I get it, really Peter. She's me, but better."

* * *

"Olivia STOP!"

He roars her name, fuming and angry as she walks down the hall and toward the stairs that lead outside. He is almost ready to jog up to her, and he tries her name one last time before jogging to her. She won't stop. Her walk is purposeful. _Run, flee, go, hide,_ anything, _anywhere_, just as long as it isn't _here._ She is almost to freedom, her SUV where she can cry and break down and just shut _down._ But there is a pressure on her arm, a hard and forceful pressure and she wheels around, ready to break the jerk's face that grabs her, but it is Peter's face and his eyes are just as red as hers.

"Let go," she feebly tries, shaking herself of him, "Let go."

"Olivia you need to stop this," he hisses, nearly shaking her, "You need to stop."

"_You_ need to stop!" she nearly yells. They are both at their breaking points and she is a volatile cocktail of chemicals and emotions and blood and woman that won't stand for him. "I am not _her_, I won't be _her,_ and I won't just sit around and be _me_ either!"

"And why not?"

"Because," she yells angrily at Peter, "I hate _me!"_

"Sweetheart," he says, his grip slacked. It was a mistake because she pulls away.

"I hate who I _am_ because of the choices I've made. I can't _be_ her, Peter! I can't! I'm too damaged."

"Olivia-"

"No," she says shaking her head, "Please, don't break my heart anymore. I'm leaving."

"And where are you going?" he yells angrily as she retreats. She's fleeing him, running, flying, falling, anything to get from him. This is what it felt like when he left her, he thinks bitterly, and he is deserving of it. Every mistake he made, the coffee, the salads, the music, even her pet name, _her fucking pet name_, just wrong. His fists are curled and she's almost to the door. "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere."

And just like that she's free.

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Reviews? Comments? Thoughts? Love? criticism? Confusion? Love? :D :D :D :D :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3, as promised. It will continue on after this, serious aftermath to be dealt with. I promise P.O is there, is coming and should be arriving shortly.**

**Summary: Olivia loses herself.**

**T for violence**

**disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos.**

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He wasn't surprised when she lay her badge down on his desk and declared she needed a few weeks off. In fact, he wasn't even remotely _shocked_ she would do so. And it bothered her when he only asked

"Where are you going to go?"

"Couldn't you act a little shocked, sir," Olivia spat angrily to her boss, "Just a little surprised that I'm leaving?"

He looked up at her with smoldering brown eyes and spoke honestly to her because there was no need to lie.

"Why lie?"

* * *

It was irony.

Complete and totally ironic that they _only_ flight leaving the airport within the hour, the _only_ place that was open was right where she _found_ him the first time. She could laugh at the irony of the only plane being out of the country to be Bagdad, Iraq. She couldn't find a place further away, a plane Russia or China maybe? It was fate, she had decided, only bitterly sweet fate that said fly to Bagdad because-_hell,_ who knows?- Peter might chase after her? That was a thought that both excited her and hurt her.

She hadn't made a point to use only cash. He would-in one way or another- find a way to track her down despite her solely cash purchases. He'd find a way to locate her and watch her, _stalk_ her from a distance until she really gets herself in trouble and is pretty much drowning. Then he'd come to save her, manifesting like a hallunication _again_ to save her life. She had bought her ticket and held it in her hands, staring at the gate. Fate was so cruel.

She hesitates at the gate, watching those around her saying goodbye to their lovers. A man holds a woman close and stroked her hair and Olivia desperately wishes Peter would burst over the security gates and run to her, to stop her. But she knows he won't. He'll let her get so far before coming after her. She just knows it. She can sense it. When her row is called she leaves the happy couple embracing and walks to the gate. She counts the seconds, hoping, waiting _wanting_ him to tell her no, to overflow the gates like water and chill her down to the bone and knock sense into her. But the man scans her ticket and she boards the plane. He won't be coming for her. And as she watched the ground leave beneath her, she realizes it. He's not going to chase down the airplane on the runway. He won't meet her in the air in a helicopter. He won't take another flight in hopes to catch her. He's not coming.

And she cries silent tears before leaning back and closing her eyes.

* * *

It's the strangest sensations, but she can _feel_ him.

He's more than a thousand miles away, but sometimes when she wanders the streets at night, weaving between hookah bars and regular bars she can feel his eyes _watching_ her. And it isn't like the sense she is being _watched_ but specifically being watched by _him._ Sometimes shell turn around to see if _maybe_, just _maybe_ he is there, watching her, but she will see no one she recognizes. And she continues into the night. But his eyes remain, like he lurks from the shadows.

Iraq is getting to cold for her. The desert sun is hot but she feels like ice, chilled and frozen down to her very core. Even in the middle of the day, swathed in black suris she feels chilled, as if her own body is the source of ice. She is a living, breathing ice cube, never melting and always the same. Iraq was beginning to freeze, and she found herself shivering in midday sun, sitting at a coffee table. It was a sign that perhaps she should leave. Iraq had proved to have nothing for her.

They had no memories here. Or if they did, they were forbidden, places marked off limits not only in her memories, but in reality. The hotel had been wiped clean by a car bomb nearly 6 months earlier and the bar they shared the volatile drink that was for men only. Olivia found she hand nothing left here. She wandered the streets idly, staring from one place to the next. She ate by herself at resturuants where men stared at her. She tried not to let her mind wander back to Boston, but she found that the more time she was here, the more it wandered home.

It was time to go.

* * *

Italy was next.

She found it to be no better, the sweet coast of Sicily was inviting, the white sand beaches and clear waters invited her, enticed her to swim and frolick in the waves. But it only took three days of white sands and crystal seas and impeccable foods for the cold to find its way back in, this time in the form of a phone hanging in the lobby of the hotel. She wanted to reach out and touch it and call him. The last night she was there she awoke from a dream to which she had called him. It was then she decided it was time to flee.

It was off to Madagascar then. A remote island near Africa, she lay underneath a mosquito net and stared at the bamboo ceiling. The humidity made a fine layer of sheen attack her skin and she inhaled and exhaled lightly, gently. There was the soft hum of native voices chanting in a native language outside her window. She had picked a place without technology, a place far away from modern technology in hopes that she would not be tempted to call or write him. During the days he found herself busy, but at night she couldn't sleep, the bed far to big and the world far too quiet for her. It was sometime around midnight when she'd really start to think about him, and within two days _the_ nightmares returned. And the next day she packed up and left.

She found trouble in Moscow.

* * *

She should have known they would know her.

Peter had shadows in every corner of the world and it should not have surprised her that one would recognize her in Moscow as Peter's girlfriend. Wandering down the street with her hands tucked into her long jacket's pockets finally feeling as if this place _fit_, she found herself being followed, and not just by the eyes that she thought belonged to _him_. But late one night while she stared at the ceiling she found they _didn't_ just belong to _him_. In through her window the men climbed and while Olivia fought without fail, she couldn't overpower a 250-pound man made of pure muscle. A strike across her jaw and she was lugged over his shoulder as if she were nothing. She hadn't realized it until now but she was weak and frail, the moving around had left her ill and the size of really nothing.

She was set roughly into a nice car's trunk, her eyes watching as the men leered over her, binding her wrists together. She struggled again, but it earned her a blow to the cheekbone that left her whimpering and looking up at the clear starry sky before the trunk was shut down on her. The car started up and began driving, but she didn't have the strength to count how long they were driving for. Instead she closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing, steadying her heartbeat. She doesn't know if he even came after her, or if he went home, back to his world. She feels the car slow and a sudden jolt and everything is turning, turning.

Everything is scraping, sliding and _hurting_ and she feels stinging in her skin. Her world is black but she blinks, trying to get her bearings as she is sliding along pavement in a trunk of some luxury vehicle. There is heat underneath her feet as she slides to a stop and she feels blood falling from her head. The car rocks once more but stays on its side and she is _terrified_ that she will _die_ in that trunk. But there is a scraping sound and suddenly the lid is sprung free.

And Peter is there and scoops her into his arms as if to say she were always safe with him.

But she loses conciousness too soon.

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reviews? Love? Comments? Thoughts? Theories? Opinions? Speculations? Crictisim? Love? :D :D :D


	4. Chapter 4

**ahhhhhhh i'm so excited for tomorrow night's episode you have NO IDEA i'm literally counting down the hours till it. Anyway, unil then, i'll be posting a chapter of this, because i got 11 REVIEWS for the LAST CHAPTER? you guys are the most amazing reviewers anywhere! I love hearing what you think and the theories you have! You are awesome.**

**summary: Olivia gets mutliple visitors.**

**T for language**

**I won nothing but the typos.**

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When she regains her stability she is horizontal to the ground, lying in a soft plush bed that is wrapped in itching plastic sterile sheets. She knows instantly the feeling of polyester fibered pillows against her head and she doesn't even need to open her eyes to see the stark white walls of the hospital room. She focuses on her breathing for a while before blinking her eyes and staring at the florescent lights upon the ceiling. Her whole body _aches_ sorely, a deep bone-chilling ache that just _hurts_ like no tomorrow. There is a dull throb from the needle in her arm and the metal of the indicators on her skin is cold, oh so _very_ cold. There is a soft rustling in the corner of her room followed by a nervous sigh and Olivia whips her head around almost too fast and the room is spinning and the monitor beeps crazily.

There is a bustle of movement and Olivia is _frightened_ for a moment as a bustling doctor came into the room, his tall presence overtaking the man she heard earlier.

"Miss Dunham," he tries in broken English, "Please remain calm. You were in an accident."

But she will _not_ remain calm because she will _not_ be told what to do. Instead she whips her head around furiously, looking for some weapon that she could use in this foreign place. But there is nothing. The doctor looks at her IV drip and she panics because _maybe_ just _maybe _she is reliving her nightmare of being tortured in the other universe. But her heart is relaxing without her body's permission and she knows there is a sedative in her blood now.

She thinks of nothing and welcomes the blackness.

* * *

The second time she wakes up, it is to the gentle caress of her delicate flesh by warm fingers. Her eyes flutter open and watch as a hand traces her scars there, and she doesn't even have to ask who it is. He is there and she was not dreaming. He is staring at every needle prick point in her silken skin and she stares at the wrinkle in his brow. Eventually his eyes meet hers.

"You should not have come," she whispers to him.

"I didn't have to," he answers and she knows what he means. He has been following her since the day she left.

"I don't need you to save me," she whispers, but it is anywhere from harsh, "I am okay by myself."

"I know."

"No you don't," she answers. She rolls her head away and stays silent, staring at the window. She was perfectly all right with taking care of herself. She didn't need him. "If it were her, you wouldn't have come."

"Probably not," he answers her near silent phrase. Her whole body stiffens.

"Go home," she says, moving her arm from under his now searing touches. She curls it up and under the pillow, along with he other arm and he stands. There was nothing left. She closes her eyes as she hears him leave.

She never needed him anyway.

* * *

"They sent me to save you."

"I don't need saving," she spat angrily at the black haired man.

"Of course you don't," he answered cryptically. He is standing there outside the hospital with an unmarked black car, leaning against it in his floral shirt and heavy brown jacket. She is stand opposite him in a northeastern shirt and sweats, the shirt stained just a bit with blood. She stands on a cane but she still stands tall, her chin jutted up in defiance. She turns from him and starts walking.

"Where are you going?"

"To my hotel."

"Do you even know where you are sweetheart?"

She wheels around on him and he's hit a nerve and he smiles just lightly at her. Her eyes are dark and stormy, a color he likes to see, a _driven, powerful_ color that makes his smirk wider.

"Don't ever call me _that_," she spat angrily at him.

"Get in the car Olivia," he says gently.

"Why?"

"Get in the car, Olivia."

He pulls open the door and she sees it empty so she climbs in, shuffling across the seats and leaning against the opposite window. Sam climbs in after her and the driver pulls away from the curb. It is silent for a moment before he speaks.

"What prompted this?"

"Everything."

He feels like he is talking to a defiant 5 year old.

"It's not only about you."

"How so?" she asks as they turn down a street.

"Peter has to chose," he says simply, knowing that she knows that Peter has feelings still for _her_, "It'll be her universe that survives."

Olivia snorts and stares at the window. The car has pulled up to the hotel she was at. The valet opens the door and she looks at Sam once more.

"I hardly believe the fate of the universe comes down to who Peter wants to _fuck_ more."

She straightens her spine and turns on her heel, leaving Sam in the car by himself. He expected that from her.

* * *

Peter has gone home. Sam has stopped calling.

For once in her life she is _alone_ with her thoughts without distraction. She is no longer fleeing because he will always know where she is. Instead she sits in the bathtub staring at the tile walls. She has nothing left to say anymore. She wonders how long it will be before Broyles calls her back to work. She idly wonders if he knows what has happened to her but she lets it go in favor of the hot soapy bubbles that fall over her battered skin.

She climbs out and limps her way into the bedroom only to find herself not alone. There is a man resting on her bed, a gun in hand with a silencer over the top. She freezes, unsure if it was the end for her or if it were simply just another attempt to kidnap her. The threat seems so idle to her that she almost goes about finding clothes. But there is a lift of the man's head and he looks at her. He looks familiar but she cannot place it. He swings his legs over the bed and smiles at her.

"Hello Liv," he drawls, "You're a hard woman to find."

"Not really," she answers, "I'm sorry I can't remember where you're from?"

"Oh you don't know _me_," he answers, "but perhaps Newton rings a bell."

_Shapeshifter_. Her brain goes into high alert.

"What would you like?"

"Oh it's not what I would like, but what _we _would like."

"Okay," she says slowly. The man points the gun at her.

"I'm sorry about the last kidnapping attempt," he says, "Must have hurt a lot. This is only going to hurt for a moment."

Olivia thinks for a brief second that perhaps this is the end, that her life isn't worth anything more than at the wrong end of a pistol. She swallows hard and chokes back tears in her stormy eyes. She doesn't know what to think. Peter has gone home and there is no Sam three doors down. This is just how fate was going to be to her. She can't help but think of what _she_ would have done at a time like this. Would she have fought back? Would she have hit the man, shoved him, _killed him_ to get away? Would she have stopped at nothing to be safe? But what if _she_ were dealing with _this_ fallout, would she be stronger or just as weak as Olivia right now?

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks lowly.

"No," he says, "No, no. That's not our orders."

And he pulls the trigger.

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annnnnnnd another cliffy. anyway, reviews? Love? Crictism? Theories? Opinions? Love? :D :D


	5. Chapter 5

**can i just say that 6B blew my mind? it was amazingness. Although i do have to say, a little bit lovey dovey but we NEEDED THAT. seriously, we did. Anyway, i came out with this chapter because frankly i like this tale and i think it truely is going somewhere. Of course i could be completely wrong in which case just say "STOP NOW" lol. but judging from 12 lovely beautiful wonderful reviews i got i don't think you're going to say that :) anyway, here it is**

**Summary: Observers, observers, observers.**

**T for langauge and violence and natural distasters.**

**i own nothing but the above mispelling of diaster and the below typos.**

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She feels exposed and somewhat violated lying in a bath towel on the cool concrete floor. Her body is aching and shivering all at the same time and her wet tendrils of hair are now dry, looking ragged and harsh as they hung around her face. She lifts her upper body on her forearms unstably, her eyes scanning the room she's sprawled in. It's vast and wide, probably the assembly floor of an abandoned warehouse. She shivers from the cold, sitting up and pulling herself closer together in a ball.

The far end of the floor the door is opened and a man walks in. She does not know if it's a man or a shapeshifter but he tosses her blue cotton fabric in her direction. She picked it up, recognizing it has a prisoner style jumpsuit with a zipper up the front. Grateful that it covered her whole body she steps into it, zipping it up and removing the towel expertly as the man approaches. His eyes watch her as she adjusts her body inside the obviously too large garb of clothing before he grips her upper arm harshly and hauls her to the door that he had come through.

"Peter doesn't want me anymore," she says, trying to find out what they want, "He left me."

"Hardly."

"I'm serious," she says, trying to convince them, "Ask _her_, he fell in love with _her._ Any day now he'll be back on your side and you won't have to force him, I swear. I am telling the truth."

The man lifts her bridal style and places her in the back of a van and she stares at him, refusing to show how frightened she really was.

"Well if that's the case," he says, "Consider yourself insurance."

* * *

She's at a governmental facility. When they opened the van doors and she looked around she is hit instantly by the white flurry of snow and bitter cold air that nips at her flesh, turning it pink. The same man that lifted her into the van wraps his arms around her waist and hauled her over his shoulder, carrying her above the snow. She watches his steps, counting them because she has nothing else to do.

Perhaps she will die here.

The sneaking thought falls into her mind and she notices that since she has returned she has lost her fight. She figures there is nothing left for her to fight for. She _fought_ for Peter, to come back, to pray and hope and see that he noticed she wasn't the same. But that is all gone. She has nothing left to fight for and that is what she figured is making her so weak. She's being tossed about like a sack of potatoes, thrown roughly to a plush hospital style bed and strapped down. Her head falls limply to one side and she sees vials and vials of things they will inject in her and she snaps.

She will no longer be a test subject for abuse. Will a force that was long forgotten she wretches her hand away from a strap and fists the mans face. In a flash she has unstrapped her other hand and is going for her feet. It takes seconds, miliseconds, and she is free and fighting her way out. What the men have on her in size she has in speed and before long she is fleeing towards the entrance, the white snow hitting her face. She does not look back and run on, the cold freezing her feet. She doesn't know how far she will make it.

But for now she will run.

* * *

Her feet are nearly frozen solid and there is blood coming from them but she does not slow as she darts through trees. She does not know how long she has been running or where she is even going, but all she knows is that she is going and she will not stop. She looks behind her and sees nothing but snow. She can no longer see the lights of the men searching for her nor does she care for them and she darts faster, hoping that if her legs sink far enough in the blood trail will no longer be seen. She turns her face around but is a moment too late.

She skids out onto a frozen lake and is sliding, flailing her arms helplessly as she loses her balance. She feels the ice cracking and she knows what happens next, right as she plunges into the icy water. She tries her best to stay straight down, but her forward momentum has propelled her under the icy surface and she cannot get back through. She pounds on it and pounds on it, but nothing is happening. She feels hypothermia crawling under her veins and her vision edges into blackness.

Then suddenly she is being hauled up through ice, like a surging whale that breaks the surface of water. She is breaching up and onto the cold, two strong (nearly robotic) arms lifting her as if she weighs nothing. She is shivering and is cold, very _very_ cold and she clings to the suit jacket of the man that saved her. She is fighting the darkness invading her vision and she looks up to the man that rescues her.

It is September.

* * *

It is an English hospital she wakes in this time, and like expected there is no observer. She is bundled tightly in sheets and she goes to move one arm, only to find it handcuffed to the bed's railing. Panicking, the heart monitor goes crazy and it reminds her eerily of her first visit to a hospital since her separation, her quest for independence. This time a sharp looking man enters and regards her cautiously as if she were some stone cold murderer that was lying here in bed and not her. He checks her heart monitor and she finds the chance to speak.

"What is happening?"

She almost sounds like she is begging because she _is_ begging and the man stops, stares at her with pity in his eyes before shuffling from the room. Her head turns toward the door and there stands Peter, Walter and Broyles outside talking to men in uniforms she'd never seen before. Peter's arms are crossed and his jaw is taut, angry. Broyles has an FBI like stance, his face a mask and Walter is looking at Olivia looking at them. He presses a hand to the glance and Peter finally turns and his hard face just shatters like glass, a breaking glance and he is scrambling in to see her.

And it is _nothing_ like the first time they were reunited because Olivia is trying so _hard_ not to cry. She is scared and he is glimmering and she is confused and she grips his hand a little to hard but he won't mind. He soothes back her hair and touches her, holds her face and smiles, despite the fact he is nearly crying.

"Olivia," he chokes out, "Olivia you've been arrested for murder."

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And reviews? Love? Hates? Theories? Crictisms? Love? Reviews? :D :D :D


	6. Chapter 6

**so here is the next chapter of the story for you. i went on a trip so i couldn't update. But i did manage to catch the ADORABLE episode of fringe last friday. i liked it alot. Anyway i had a dream that inspired a crossover fic (my very first one) so look for that under inception/fringe. But i couldn't leave you hanging here. so sorry for the wait!**

**T for a little bit of violence.**

**i own nothing but the typos.**

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Before she could barely stand she was shoved into a cold steel room with high windows and a single steel door. She felt just as if she where trapped again in the cell in the other world and against her will her heart begins to race faster. A man enters in a police uniform as well as a translator and an Englishman.

"Olivia Dunham?" the Englishmen said. Olivia nodded and looked at him.

"My name is Robert Gerud from the U.N. embassy. Do you know where you are and why you are here?"

"Peter said something about murder," she whispers and she can almost see the pity in the man's eyes. "But I don't know anything about it. Am I still in Russia?"

"No, you are in London," the man says with a frown. "The Russian government would like to ask you a few questions about what you were doing at the Kiev government facility."

"Okay."

* * *

She does not know what is happening. The man is showing her pictures repeatedly and talking oh so _fast_ that the translator can barely understand what he is saying. There are the occasional blushes from the translator and she can tell a few swear words have been mixed in. But she doesn't understand. _She doesn't get it_.

There are photos of her leaving a bloody trail as she escapes into the icy cold taken from some security camera she hadn't seen and are followed by a few photos of men that went after her. The man says something in Russian and the U.N. official translates for her.

"He says that you are there leaving."

"I was kidnapped," Olivia says with honesty, "And I need to speak with Special Agent Broyles right away."

"I'm afraid you can't do that."

"Why not?"

Then the Russian man bursts into a fit of anger and stands yelling at her in a language she'd never understand. He lurches towards her with fists waiting to strike and the man reaches for him and pulls him back. Olivia becomes instantly _terrified_, something she hasn't felt in quite sometime. The men are joined by officials as they burst through the door to pull him away. The U.N. translator smiled apologetically at Olivia and they shut the door to the steel room and leave her alone.

* * *

She's beginning to feel _that_ again.

There is no clock in the room, only a cold steel table and two chairs. Olivia has sat very still in the room as to not hurt herself, but she can't take much more of this. There are memories threatening to invade her sane mind that she has kept at bay for quite some time now, but sitting still in the room, they are coming back. She feels her heartbeat pick up and she stands too quickly, her breath coming out in a sharp gasp before she braces herself against the wall.

"Hello?" she calls as she feels along the wall to the door. The handle is in reach and she tugs on it, finding it locked. Panic sets in then.

"Hello!"

"Hello!"

"_HELLO!"_

But she receives no answers.

* * *

Time is slipping away. And so is her hold on reality.

She's sunken down a wall and in a corner, her body curled into itself as she tries desperately to tell herself she is not back, not _there_, but it is becoming harder and harder to convince her own mind that she is home. Vaguely she imagines that maybe if she _had_ let Peter in she would never have ended up _back_ here again.

But she shakes her head at that. She is not _back_ anywhere, she is simply stuck in London at the U.N. interrogation offices where a mysterious observer has saved her life once again and she is being charged with murders that she can't remember. She is _not_ over _there_ where her double lives, where she has taken _everything._ She will not let that woman take her sanity too.

But it is the unfortunate turn of events as Olivia finds it hard to breathe the longer she sits there that sets her into a spin. She stretches her fingers toward the walls and feels them, feeling as they change from cold steel to the padding she lived with for three months She staggers up and lurches for the table her fingers hitting the cold steel She feels sick, but slumps into the chair.

She had to get out of here.

* * *

It takes only another hour for her to snap.

She staggers up and breathes through her mouth in shallow pants, the blood in her veins pumping at an insanely fast pace as her mind reels around. She can't focus, everything is _spinning spinning spinning _out of control and downward and she stumbles and fumbles for the door. She bangs her hand on it and shakes the handle violently.

"Let me out of here, I know you can hear me!"

She's panicking and her hold on reality is gone and she is _completely_ insane now, just as insane as Walter if not _more insane_ and she is just freaking out. She sees the observation glass and lurches for it, but she does not make it and she collapses onto the ground in incredibly violent seziures. Her vision is _dancing_ away from her and she can't help but wonder if this would not have happened had she actually allowed Peter _in_ and that her choice to flee was _wrong_. It's the last thought she has, last coherent regrettable thought she has before she coughs up and vomits up some blood onto the floor, the cherry red staining her hair as she rolls over to face the ceiling. The blood is filling her throat and perhaps this _is_ her end, right here and the last thing she thinks of is how everything would have been different had she allowed for herself to be _used_ by Peter Bishop, so that maybe she would live on in her universe.

The door opens juts as she goes black and she does not get the chance to feel relief. It is far too late for that.

She will die in panic.

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okay, comments? Thoughts? reviews? Hate? Theories? Love? i want to know guys :)


	7. Chapter 7

**thank you for bearing with me my lovely reviewers. I know it was a long break but i have returned and here is the next chapter! thank you my seven reviewers and i promise this is quite a good chapter! thank you again! and enjoy! and i don't know why it kept saying complete, buts its fixed now!**

**Summary: Olivia and Peter talk it out.**

**I own nothing but the typos.**

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Olivia is awake.

Or at least she _feels_ awake, that is. She doesn't know _if_ she's been asleep or simply dreaming, but she's lost somewhere in the space between dreams and awareness. She feels vaguely as if she's been drugged, and drugged _heavily_ and as she comes into awareness she notices two vey obvious things.

One is that the room she is in is stark white and _padded_ and eerily familiar to her memory, the bright whiteness soaking her brain thoroughly. Coming to her senses she feels panic setting in, curling around her very _empty_ stomach and tightening a grip around it. She wants to scramble to her knees but her body just won't, and she's frozen in place with a heartbeat that's racing and no way she can move her body. Her eyes roll around her head and she tries desperately to swing her body around. It must have been that her mind has started to work but her body has not.

The second thing that has crossed her mind is the very _very_ loud voice being muted by some kind of thick glass that she wasn't able to see. The voice _pounds_ against her skull and she is so obviously _aware_ that it is Peter's angry tone that is flooding into her eardrums and filling up her veins.

"She's not crazy!" she hears his voice bellow, "You need to get her out of there!"

"Mr Bishop," came a heavily accented voice, "She is a danger to herself and to everyone around her."

"She isn't though!" he could hear. She tries to fling her head to tell him to stop, that she _can_ and _will_ defend herself, without _him_. "Her name is Olivia Dunham and she works for the FBI."

"Then how come she isn't in the system?"

"She is! You don't have clearance!" he roars and the man looks very much insulted. Olivia has been watching.

"We will see," the man grits out and turns on his heel. Olivia is panicking and slowly her body returns to her and she is now thrashing about upon her back like an upside down turtle. She thrashes about for minutes before giving up and turning her face to the window, a very heartbroken Peter watching her.

_Don't cry for me_

_

* * *

_

She's clutching a cup of some kind of coffee or of something of the _like_ and she's staring down at it between her fingers, her tiny little digits tapping out a rhythm on it's side. _Tap. Tap. Tap._ She's watching the brown liquid ripple around and meet in the center to collide with itself and form a drop, a drop of _something._ She is filled with _nothing_, and the cup of something is reminding her that she is _not_ allowed to think in a place like this.

Vaguely she is aware that if she _hadn't _just _run_ from everything that this would have never occurred. But then again, if she hadn't been so stubborn as to save a _traitor_ then she wouldn't have to have worried about alternate worlds and men who don't love her and an mental hospital she _wouldn't_ have ended up at. She knows somewhere her choices have led her to _this_ and _this_ isn't what she is, but _who _she is now. So she will sit here and stare at the brown liquid that is more than she is and hope to God that she will stay, because the world is too cold and too cruel for her now.

"Liv," comes his voice and he reaches for her but she's too quick for him, as if she felt him touch her before he reached her arm. She looks up at him and there is _nothing_ in her eyes and she watches him recoil in horror, horror because her vast green pools just _are_ and aren't _full _of something. She looks away and there are tears in her eyes, pooling tears of diamonds that will streak her face if she is not careful.

And Peter is gone, the sound of his quickly retreating footsteps are the only thing she has left.

* * *

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs to her, this time through the glass of a thick window. She presses her fingers against the glass, her whole palm up against the glass and he does the same and she can feel the flames between them. Her medication has caused her to be far _far_ gone into a mindless state, transforming her from a smart, quick witted woman into a mindless drone of a mentally ill patient. She is listening, but she has nothing left to say.

"Why?"

"Because I am."

"You never did anything."

"I did _everything_."

"That's not true."

She knows that he knows it's not, but there is no point in arguing when the blame is needed to be placed so harshly on her but he just wont be the one to do it, not when she is so fragile and just so venerable. It can wait and it can wait for forever as far as he is concerned. But she knows it is coming and so she pulls her fingers from the burning glass and smiles emptily at him because she _is_ empty as she turns away from him. Her hair is loose and limp and hanging into the empty space before she curls up like a puppy and faces the wall.

And with a sigh she is asleep, drifting back away into absence.

* * *

"They want you, you know."

"Yeah."

"That's why they took me."

She explains this to him while they stroll around a garden, her hands shoved into her white jumpsuits pockets and his hanging limply at his side. The sun is out and creating beautiful colors that bounce from her hair and he is distracted slightly, but she seems as sane as ever when she speaks and he listens because she is very weary.

"I'm not going back," he answers as he looks at a yellow rose that blooms near him.

"Why not?"

She's honest and true and she's looking at him like he's betraying her by not leaving. He searches her face for any form of pain and she has none because she is _still_ medicated and she muses with herself as she contemplates the grass blades.

"What?"

"Why not?" she repeats, "There is nothing here for you anyway."

"Olivia that's not true."

"But it is," she answers, "You can't stay for me, I'm _crazy_, Peter."

"You aren't."

She snorts. She is upset.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" she snaps, and suddenly it feels very cold in the warm sunshine, "They stole me to get to you. They want you home. And I told them, I _told_ them that she is the one you want and they didn't need me."

"Are you serious?" he asks, his voice deadly. Olivia turns and she stares at him as if nothing is wrong.

"Why wouldn't I be, Peter?" she asks and he shakes his head before stopping her.

Forcefully he takes her face in his hands and Olivia is not scared, not worry not frightened until his lips crash onto hers and then she panics. It's wrong, _oh so wrong_, but she is three seconds to late and he is kissing her like there is nothing left anymore because there _is_ nothing left anymore. There is no time, there is no space, there is no _life_ left for her and him and she shoves him away, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at him.

"Go away!" she yells, "Go away! Go away! _Go away!"_

It is about this time that the orderlies have come out and taken her by the arms. She is thrashing about and screaming to be let go just as one takes Peter's arm and Peter thrashes away as well.

"You're a liar!" he yells, "Olivia _please!"_

But Olivia is not there, instead she is _empty_.

"Olivia! Olivia! Olivia _I need YOU!"_

And then, right there and she has snapped.

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all right reviews? theories? thoughts? love? hate? comments? anything?


	8. Chapter 8

**and onto the next chapter! THank you everyone for the reviews, it makes me smile each time i see them :) The story will progress from here, in a one step forward two steps back fashion (like the show GASP) and i hope y'all enjoy :D**

**Olivia makes a friend.**

**i own only the typos.**

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"You're not crazy."

She's been here about a month now and has finally settled down just enough to grant herself a roommate- er, cellmate. She's a pretty model like brunette with a disturbingly calm and collected composure that has not spoken a single word to her for the past two weeks. It startles Olivia when she finally speaks, her voice is just as collected as her composure and it lacks a tone all together. With wide green eyes she stares at the slim and stunning figure of a roommate until she looks up and is shocked to see her eyes an abnormally strange shade of gold.

"I know."

"I'm not crazy either," she says, her fingers toying with the hem of her white suit, "But I've tried to tell them that. I'm guessing you've done the same."

Olivia nodded. The girl gives a ghost of a smile, but it never touches her eyes and she looks back up at Olivia, tucking a strand of long wavy hair behind an ear.

"Yeah, well that's just how it goes, I guess."

"Yeah," Olivia responds.

* * *

"I killed a man," she says one day.

Olivia is standing, staring at the sun because her medication has put her into another mindless daze. She is underneath a tree, staring at a rose that has wilted away and some petals that have fallen and sitting on the ground.

"I killed more than one man actually," she continues when Olivia does not stop her, "But I don't really count them. They weren't human anyway."

Olivia wheels around to see the woman. Has she really just said what she has thought? The woman picked at the grass underneath her.

"I don't know what they were," she says, "But that's why I'm here."

Olivia turns back to contemplate the suns rays, the heat burning holes into her skin. She feels vaguely strange, listening to the woman talk, because there was, at one time, a point when she thought she sounded crazy. It's ironic, she figures, how she got caught up in this mess while someone else, a _stranger_ is thought completely insane when she talks of shapeshifters. She wonders idly if she knows there is another place, another _her_ that lives and exists and is _her_ somewhere else.

"Have you been there?"

The question slips before she can stop it and she doesn't even remember thinking it, but it's her answer that shocks Olivia more.

"Yes."

* * *

He is more cautious then _ever_ when he comes to see her this time. Today he holds a suitcase in hand, hers most likely, and Broyles is there as well. The orderly unlocks her cell door and the sun exposes them as two glowing figures. At one time she would have thought them angels to rescue her, but her last dose of medication has yet to wear off and they appear just simply shadows and masses rather than angels.

"We're going home Livia," he says and he sounds almost pained to talk to her. Olivia wants to cry at the sound of his voice because she is already so broken but instead she looks at her cell mate and smiles.

"I'm going home," she says. The brunette looks down and picks her pant hem again as she sits crossed legged and back pressed to the wall.

"It makes one of us," she says. She looks up, her eyes piercing Olivia's in a silent plea to not forget her, to remember who she was and help her. Peter steps into the cell and Olivia turns her head back to him. He reaches for her but she denies his help, placing her hands on the floor and pushing herself up. She looks back at her cell mate one more time and nods.

She will be back for her.

* * *

Olivia looks about the lab for all of thirty seconds before darting into the office and slamming the door.

It is the last time she will be seen for the day.

Instead, inside she is flinging through all the records of cortexiphan subjects, all the children everywhere, in hopes that she will find the girl with the golden eyes. She rifles through the list of children on the east coast and then starts on the west. New Mexico gives her no luck, Colorado draws a blank and Washington gives her nothing but tragedy. She stops when she reads a file from California and she opens the photo envelope to a young girl with golden eyes.

She reads through the file and finds the girl to be surprisingly well off as an individual. Her mother was a wealthy working woman with no time for her daughters and her father was locked up in a mental hospital. It probably attributed to her sentence now, Olivia figured and she notes that the young girl was dosed the same age as Olivia. The record stops after the dosage. It's like everything else was gone off the grid. Frustrated Olivia had collapsed on her desk in a near unconscious state of sleep.

When she awakes, Peter is hovering, standing near her desk with a photo in his hands. His brow is crinkle in unhappiness and she stiffens her back to stare at him with a stoic gaze.

"This is your cell mate, isn't it?" he asks, accusing.

"Yes."

"She was a cortexiphan kid?"

"And she's been over _there_ as well," she says, making sure each word stung him deeper. He doesn't reply, he leaves.

* * *

"It's your fault."

The three words stop her in her tracks as she bustles around the lab. Her friend, Anya Randon from the mental hospital was being transferred here, _today_, and she couldn't deal with whatever Peter had to say to her. But he called to her and the words he said stopped her cold and she stood with her back to him as he approaches. He doesn't care touch her, but she spins like he has and she's face to face with him, eyes burning, jaw set.

"You don't think I know that?"

Peter recoils, it was something that he wasn't sure he had heard come from her and his mind processes it slower than ever and he steps away, truly shocked at she has said something so simple. He opens his mouth and closes it and then opens _again_ but he says nothing and Olivia turns back around to work.

"Why do you do this?"

"Do what, Peter?"

"Block me out."

"You know why."

"Tell me," he urges and she spins and does.

"One day, you're going to wake up," she says, "You're going to realize that there isn't anything here and you're going to get up and go home. And _she's_ going to be there with all her quick wit and flirty smiles and she's going to be _waiting_ for you. She's everything I'm not and you know that. You're not going to have a second thought. And I don't want to be the damage you leave behind. I can't do that again, I _won't_ do that again."

By the time she's done speaking there are tears in her eyes and the are threatening to spill down her face. Peter isn't watching her anymore, his eyes are closed and his arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched so tight that it should have broken by now. The silence between them is _too_ long, _too_ silent and he knows that she knows it is the truth. And that is what is breaking them.

"You know it's the truth," she chokes out, her whole body trembling and he can hear it in her voice. She turns her head and he opens his eyes to see a tremor rumble through beautiful golden diamond locks that he wants to touch. She turns abruptly and meets his eyes and he is shattering like glass and she brushes past him. The room is suddenly very small.

She won't throw caution to the wind now. Not for him.

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and reviews? comments? love? hate? opinions? Theories? comments? :D


	9. Chapter 9

**sorry for the long delay. tech week puts a damper on alot of things for :( but here is the next chaoter. Short, i know, but still wonderful (i like to think so). again i want to thank you all for the LOEVERLY reviews i got. every comment means something to me!**

**Anya gets a chane to explain herself.**

**i own the typos.**

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"Tell me about the man you killed."

She says this casually, warmly as she is adjusting wires on Anya's skin. Tiny probing plates are on her temples and chest and ares and anywhere else Walter could have stuck them. She's just sitting there calmly, as if this were the kind of thing that occurred everyday.

"I killed a lot of men."

"You killed shapeshifters. But you said you killed a man as well."

"Oh. Right."

Anya turns her face to look at Olivia and Olivia smiles at the pretty girl, encouraging her to go on. Anya's golden eyes are misty and she smiles back at her, the smile not touching the cool overtone that her eyes have as she speaks.

"It was a long time ago."

* * *

Olivia has caught Peter looking at them once. The thoughts in his eyes are unreadable and _unbearable_ so she steers away from them whenever they are near. Her eyes will look at _everything_ but his face because she can't deal with him. Not now. Everything is at stake.

"He's watching you," Anya says one day and Olivia tenses, her face turning upward.

"He always does."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

Olivia knows that Anya can tell she is lying, but Anya doesn't push it and for the first time she is _uncomfortable_ that she won't ask questions. Olivia goes back to adjust a monitor so she can red it while Anya stares off at a wall.

"The man I killed," she says and Olivia turns to listen. She hasn't given her any details about him but she is willing to know. Olivia's mind is choking her because she doesn't know.

"I loved him."

* * *

"Olivia."

His voice sneers on her name and Olivia is forced to grit her teeth and turn her head. What she sees shocks her. He is glaring at her, daggering eyes and squared shoulders, and she grits her teeth and lets her nostrils flare. Today he is particularly irritable and he also is holding in his hands a set of keys.

"Anya is down at the police station," he says, "She was found in an alley."

"What happened to her?"

"She beat someone up."

Olivia looks shocked for a moment and then her brow furrows, but she shrugs it off, striding to the door in large limitless steps that make her feel as if she could fly right past him. She hears his and catches the door and the sound of his leather soles jogging to meet up with her, but her pace does not falter. She breaks into the cold Boston air and immediately everything is too _close_ to her and she feels like she needs to run from him. But she is suddenly falling_ falling falling_ until the warmth of two arms catch her and right her again.

He doesn't say anything but sets her back up again before continuing to the SUV without a second glance. Her skin is _burning_ from his touch and she rubs her arm to numb it, but nothing comes from that and she looks at his retreating form. Could she forgive herself long enough to grant them both happiness? She shakes her head.

He has long since moved on.

* * *

"He loved me too."

Anya says this casually as she's all hooked up to wires. Walter is bustling around the stark white room and checking monitor after monitor while Peter sits in the corner, brooding in his own self-created shadow. Olivia looks at her but she stares up at the ceiling with unmoving gold eyes.

"I was gone, for a long time. Months. He never knew," she says, "Never questioned what happened. He thought that I had just up and left. But I loved him. I wouldn't leave him. I'd _never_ leave him. So when I came home, I was surprised to see him happily living with my sister. My older sister. "

Peter has looked up somewhere in the story and Olivia caught him looking at her once before she looked back to Anya as she still stares at the roof.

"I shot him."

She looks over at Olivia and there re her eyes, so golden and clear and so _empty_ that it should be frightening.

"The worst part is that I don't _feel_ anything. I'm so cold. I'll never _feel_ anything again. I kept it all inside me and look at me now. I'm crazy. _Insane_."

"You're not that bad off," Olivia says, but Anya smiles and shakes her head.

"You don't know the half of it."

Peter snorts out a laugh and Anya looks over at him, Olivia joining the look. His eyes soften and stare at her before looking away. Anya looks back Olivia with a rueful smirk.

"Maybe I was wrong."

* * *

Olivia Dunham is scared.

The cold is getting to her and she wonders if she isn't getting sick all over again. Walter is _constantly_ with them, Anya and her, and is running tests left and right. Anya is there for comfort, but she too is cold and Olivia is _freezing_. Peter is the only sunshine she had ever found and he is gone. Far far away.

Even he is cold to her.

There's a moment that day in the Massive Dynamic building where she was so cold, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and breath in his summery scent. He stands down the hall from Anya's room and is leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling. But he is too far away to offer up his warmth to her freezing skin. Instead she swallows down her shiver and turns the other way.

But her actions don't go unwatched for Nina has seen the freezing space between them. She smiles at Olivia gently, as if she were to smile to big Olivia would scatter away. Olivia brushes past her bringing along her icy crystals as she head for the elevator and presses the button. Her freezing temperatures will fog up the steel, just like it fogs her mirror.

Olivia doesn't know who she is anymore.

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and fin! comments? reviews? questions? theories? hate? love? anything? :D


	10. Chapter 10

**so i wrote a really nice long blurb about Japan and reviews and not getting 100 at chapter 10, and so on and so forth and guess what? I LOSE INTERNET CONNECTION before it saves. LOLOL. talk about a message. i don't think i should write as much.**

**which also means i sould let you get on to my NEW chapter.**

**Anya and Olivia and Olivia and Peter**

**The only thing i own are typos

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"How come you let yourself get this way?"

Peter is over with Anya as she sits on the table, legs swinging back and forth like a child as he touches and adjusts the I.V. drip in her arm. He turns the tube in his hands as she just stares up at him, watching as he avoids her gaze.

"How come you're letting her slip away?"

He lifts his head with a lie fresh on his lips but Anya's gaze is much like Olivia's (who has stopped working across the lab to hear the conversation) and he finds himself incapable of lying.

"She doesn't want me."

"That's not true."

Peter watches her, waits for an emotion to slip across her eyes, but when nothing does he falters. She has no emotions in her eyes. They are simply there, two strange pools of gold that stare at him, liquid molten yet so _cold_ it could freeze him. Peter shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the ice that is starting to creep into his veins.

"Does this feel all right?"

"Fine."

* * *

Walter has determined that she, has indeed, been over there.

Of course he has no idea how she managed to make it over there or how she got back, and she is too far off the mental scale to tell them, so Olivia is stuck wondering yet _again_ what this girl had been through. Olivia looks back at the girl's blood work to see that she has higher levels of cortexiphan than Olivia and then up at the girl again, watching as she stares at the bright lights as they burn holes into her eyes.

Olivia sets the file down and walks over to Anya, touching her leg lightly to catch her attention. She turns her head to see Olivia, her gold eyes simply staring and Olivia lets a small smile grace her lips.

"We were going to get married, you know, Jay and I," she says, "He had bought me a ring. But I had said it wasn't the right time. "

She looks back up at the lights.

"You loved him a lot," Olivia says gently. Anya shrugs.

"He loves you."

Anya watches Olivia as she looks at her. Olivia can't believe what she has heard.

"No," Olivia shakes her head, "He doesn't."

* * *

The sun is out for the first time in a long time, but she only feels cold.

Anya is with her in her white jump pants and the black peacoat that is Peters wrapped tightly around her. She looks like she's drowning in it, swallowed whole and silently Olivia wants to trade places with the insane woman, just so she could be surrounded by his warmth. Anya smiles at Olivia in the warmest way she could, but there wasn't much there.

"When did you stop feeling?" Olivia blurts as they walk.

"It happened over time. But I guess it was after I came home. I walked into our apartment and saw them. But I didn't feel anything. Walter thinks it's my reaction to the drugs."

Olivia nods and keeps walking, silently. She knows the consequences. She shivers inwardly. What if it were to be her? What if, after too many trips, she were to just suddenly stopped feeling? What if she already had? There is a lump in her throat, heavy and thick and she swallows it down.

"These are pretty," Anya murmurs as she picks up a delicate daisy from the grass. But Olivia is not paying much attention. Her green eyes flicker down to the grass and she feels very ill again, a shiver running from the top of her spine to the tip of her toes. Time is slowing down. Olivia lifts her head to the sky.

And for the first time she feels the suns rays on her skin.

* * *

"Peter."

She calls him softly, delicately, her eyes pointed at the wood of her desk. He stops instantly and she watches a shiver roll through his broad shoulders and down his spine. When he spins she drops her eyes again and her fingers trace patterns on the grains of wood in front of her. She's trembling but trying oh so hard not to tremble.

"Olivia," he murmurs, his voice equally soft and low. He is approaching her and that's all she can take. She bites her lip and inhales sharply, trying not to choke on it. She's there, on the edge, and suddenly she just wants to collapse.

He runs his fingers into her hair and suddenly she is deliciously close to him, to his radiating sunlight. And she lets it all go, warm tear drops as delicate as new blades of glass and as sharp as razors that sting his shirt and sear his skin. He rests his head on hers, inhaling the perfect combination of Olivia Dunham, a scent that he would forever remember and classify as hers only.

They don't know how long they stand there, in perfect blissfulness, but it will never be long enough. Olivia is too tiny to fit in his broad grip, she is too fragile for his love and it will never be okay for him to know that he is always going to be the cause of this. It does not surprise him when the gentle waves of salt streak from his own eyes and he exhales into her hair. Relief is flooding through him. Her warm breath heats his chest and seems to reach the icy cavern in his heart.

It was happiness and love, if it were to only stay for a moment.

* * *

Anya's breath is racing.

Her strangely golden eyes have rolled far ack into her head and her hands are in little fists at her side as her body arches and contorts in a way that leaves a bloody curdling scream ringing through Massive Dynamic. Olivia is panicking, watching this woman being tortured in ways unimaginable on the steel bed. Doctors are scrambling around, trying to figure out why this woman is shrieking in pain.

The heart monitor flat lines but her body does not go limp. Her golden eyes shoot open and Olivia staggers backward, the color suddenly ablaze with every real fire, _very real_ flames that are swirling through the iris and pupil. Her mouth is wide open and frozen that way and she can see her gasping for air.

"Walter what is _happening_ to her!" Olivia screams, her face pressed to the glass as the woman screams again. Her body turns in a sickening way and Olivia hears a snapping in her spine just has her fingertips light, catching the sheets in flames. Scientists are stumbling left and right, trying to stop whatever was happening.

Then suddenly her whole body is engulfed completely, a spark in her own skin that shoots up and down her body. The restraints have melted away and the alarm is blaring as she stops writhing on the floor. Olivia knows she won't make it through this, that she is dying there, but she pounds on the glass anyway. There are so many unanswered questions that Anya has the answers too. Olivia spins and looks at Walter, eyes angry.

"Walter DO _SOMETHING_!" she screeches, turning back to the girl.

"I-it-it must be the cort-cotexiphan," he stumbles out, "They are reacting in her blood."

"Make it STOP!"

"I-I-I can't."

Olivia spins and panics, watching Anya laying on the ground. Suddenly she notices that the flames are going, but she is not burning. It is only a few more moments before the flames flicker and she stirs.

Anya opens her eyes.

* * *

okay i'll say my usual quick so i don't lose connection. Reviews? Love? comments? theories? Hate? Love? COME ON ANYTHING! free peter cookies :D


	11. Chapter 11

**without further waiting, here is chapter 11. THANK YOU MY LOVERLY 5 REVIEWERS FOR MY REVIEWS! you guys are awesome and yes peter cookies for you. anyway, this chapter did make me cry, so if you need tissues, now would be the time to get this. **

**T for T-ness.**

**I own nothing but the typos.**

**

* * *

**

"Guess there really _is_ something wrong wih me," she jokes humourlessly.

In the hospital bed she's tucked tightly under white sheets and she turns her head to stare up at the ceiling, a small emotionless smile on her lips. Olivia is sitting in the chair across from her and Peter is standing right next to her bed, staring down at her as she lies perfectly still.

"You've never done that before," Peter asks, eyebrow raised.

"Never."

"I don't believe you."

Anya turns her face to face him and there is no stopping the shudder that runs silently through his flesh. There is _no_ emotion in her glance, _nothing_. His face is hard and Olivia has turned her head to watch, his shoulder hunched and unmoving as he tries to break through Anya.

"I'm not asking you to," she answers. He doesn't let go of her gaze, his eyes staring her down as he tries to figure her out. But that is just the thing- Olivia thinks- that he cannot possibly figure her out because there is _nothing_ to see. She is the scariest of all monsters, she is a _sociopath_ with no moral conscience. And the longer he stares the more _Olivia_ shifts in her seat because she will be just like Anya someday. Will he stopped believing her as well?

"You're such a liar," he sneers and Olivia can't take it. She surges up and forward out her chair and stumbles for the door, fleeing the room as Peter watches her retreat.

* * *

"Olivia, whats wrong?"

His voice is dripping with fear as he talks to her. She is crumpled up in the corner of her office, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably and Peter wants to do _anything_ to make her stop sobbing so. But she buries her face in her knees and sucks in air violently before shaking all over again.

"Please," he begs and she looks up, her eyes bloodshot and soaked, her face wet and hair sticky.

"I'm turning into her," she whispers, "And you don't believe her. You don't believe me."

"Sweetheart, no," he practically begs, a sob almost ripping from his own throat, "Sweetheart don't do this, don't compare."

"I'm coming in second every time," she cries again, hugging her knees closer to herself and letting a sob raked through the air. She can't hold herself together anymore. Everything has just crashed down on her. She doesn't even care that Peter is there, watching her, seeing her break apart.

"That's not true-"

"I'm not good enough," she murmurs, ignoring him as she cries, "I can't save the world, I can't save Anya, I cant save you and I can't even save myself."

Peter sides up next to her, not speaking. Instead he places his arms around her.

And he cries too.

* * *

"Let me take you out to dinner."

Olivia picks her head up from near Anya's bed, staring at him as if he's the strangest creature in the world. His eyes try so hard to tell her that she has no option but to say yes. He could be as confident as he wants but he still fears and knows that she will say no to him.

But Anya has squeezed her arm as the doctor rewraps a single burn that she had received. Olivia looks down at her and see her mouth the word "go" to her and nods her head once before closing her eyes and turning her face to the doctor.

"Peter that isn't a good idea."

"Then let me cook for you," he urges.

"Peter," she warns but he squares his shoulders and looks her dead in the eye. He gives her a look that could _kill_ and she nods and smiles a moment.

"Okay."

"Wha-Okay, great, great," he repeats, his hands twisting. He gives Olivia this small smile, a beaming smile, a _beautiful_ smile and turns on his heel to leave. Anya looks back over to Olivia to see that her smile is mirrored his. She opens her mouth to speak.

"Don't say it," Olivia warns with her goofy grin.

* * *

Dinner was nice, but she can't stop her mind from racing.

Had he done this for her?

Had _she_ sat here on this very couch with this very glass in her hand?

Had she noticed the eyes that he gave her as he looked past his whiskey glass rim?

This Olivia notices.

So she watches the clear liquid swirl around and make abstract blobs of her folded legs on the couch. She sucks in her bottom lip and Peter sets his drink down, calling Olivia's attention to his concerned face. She smiles at him, a nearly humming smile before she speaks.

"This was really nice Peter."

There is a long silence in which nothing happens and Peter breaks it.

"But?"

"But I'm not good enough for you," she whispers so quietly. He knows he's heard because she would be the one to whisper such awful words.

"You're perfect for me," he says to her, watching as she stares down at her glass. She shakes her head.

"I'm flawed," she breathes out.

"So am I," he adds, "I'm a monster."

She snorts and turns to get to the door.

"Olivia please," he pauses, unsure but so certain of the next words that leave his mouth, "I need _you_."

She stops and he can see she's crying all over again. Her face is buried in her jacket and before she knows what has happened she is pressing her back to Peter's front and sobbing, doubled over.

"It's all my fault," she murmurs, "This is all my fault, everything, all my fault."

Peter bites down on his lip and furrows his brow. He does not know how to answer her, how to make her feel as if it isn't her fault _entirely_ and that he too is to blame. He can't ring himself to let her in like that just yet, and it that's realization that is a bullet into his heart. _He can't let her in_.

Who is he anymore?

* * *

Her mantra changes into "she's taken everything" and it is repeated until she can no longer speak and has gone still in Peter's grasp. Her breath comes in little shallow puffs on his arm and she just blinks in sucession, too tired to even fight or stand or walk. Instead she lets him carry her up the stairs and into his small bedroom before laying her down in his sheets. She twists immediately and buries her face in his sheets, cling and clawing, trying to get lost in his scent. He watches her as she finds herself wrapped in his smell before he drops down over her and rolls to the other side of the small space.

Instantly she clings to him like an infant. Burying her face in his warm chest, she hides her beautiful eyes from him and just inhales over and over again. To her this is as real as a dream will get. She knows when she wakes up this will never happen again. _She_ will ruin everything all over again, and there is _nothing_ to be done to stop it. Olivia knows that she's _killing_ herself with this moment of weakness, but she needs it. So for now she will stay with Peter. The other her will go away for tonight.

But she will be back tomorrow. Olivia is so sure of it.

* * *

yayy for emotions! anyway, this is kind of a pivotal chapter so ALL FEEDBACK IS NEEDED!


	12. Chapter 12

**so i have mixed feelings about last nights episode. Everyone seemed to have fallen in love with alt-livia, but i for one don't think that being kidnapped and having a baby (that probably belongs to OUR olivia, rightfully) makes me love you. I still think she's got it in her to be selfish and spiteful. But that's just me (feel free to share your opinions in reviews :D )**

**Anyway, i wrote one story about her that got NO REVIEWS AT ALL. which made me sad :\, so i post this chapter in hopes to make me glad :D**

**T for LANGUAGE. LINGIUAL WARNING**

i own the typos.

* * *

And it was beautiful.

It was _everything _and _more_ than she could have ever thought. It was _happiness_ all over again, a feeling she had long since experienced in this cruel and dark world. She could feel _again_ and she could feel warmth all over her, radiating from a single source, a single definiton that was the single hand wrapped around hers. It was Peter, beautifully, wholly, raw.

And it was endless, his love, for she felt him all around her all the time, a perfect peacefulness that she has so long ago given up on. He was the morning, the afternoon and the night, a smile and a small crinkle at the eye. For the first time in a long time she didn't mind wanting to grow old in his embrace, to see the grey line his face. Because for once she was happy, and _smiling_. And was not leaving. It was to stay.

"What a smile," Anya comments once when she sees it burst across Olivia's face, "I used to smile, too."

And just like that, she plants the seed.

* * *

She doesn't believe it. Or she doesn't want too, at least.

As she paces the floor, back and forth and back and forth, wearing down the shiny tiles, she shakes her head. Her fingers tremble in her pockets. Peter is slumped down on the wall just a few feet away, eyes up and staring into the lights, almost as if he were trying to burn his soul. Olivia refuses to believe it.

At some point Anya peaks her head out of her room from down yet a different hall and pads down to where Olivia paces. She looks at her, eyes piercing, asking but not speaking, to know why she is in such a state.

"She's back," she murmurs before her eyes turning cold and spitting out venomously, "She has _his_ kid."

Anya just looks at her, blinks and looks down the hall. When she meets Olivia's eyes again, Olivia snaps.

"Why do you just stare at me like that!" she shouts, catching Peter's attention, "Why don't you _feel_!"

Olivia lunges at Anya but she twists away, leaving just enough time for Peter to stand up and make his way down to the fight. He catches Olivia as she lunges for Anya and she shrieks like a banshee.

"Get off me!" she hollers, "Get off me you _bastard!_"

And so he drops her in shock, because he knows that's exactly what he is.

* * *

Everything is hot.

Far too hot.

Her blood boils, turning over and over again, making it impossible for her to sit or stand still. So she instead paces her office, waiting for Peter to come in. She is so angry, so red hot and over steamed that she feels like throwing something or breaking something, _anything_ that was in reach. And then the door to the lab opened and shut.

And all hell broke loose.

"You _son of a bitch!_" she shrieked, flying from the office. She didn't care that Walter and Astrid and Anya were standing there, watching her crumble. "You just take it _all!_"

Peter stands there and listens to her, her beautiful face scrunched up in so much hate that if he were to even open his mouth, he would start crying.

"Now look what you've done!" she yells as she stands in front of him, "I _trusted_ you! I cared for you! And look what there is _now_! Look at me now! I'm a fool!"

Peter stayed quiet.

"Say something!" she shrieked, and when he didn't, "Say something you _bastard!_"

He squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at her.

"What is there to say?"

* * *

She's crying again. It's silent tears, but tears nonetheless. Anya is with her, perched on Peter's desk, legs crossed underneath her and eyes watching as the hot salty liquid rips down her face. Part of her wishes that Anya could feel, so she too, could cry and take away some of the weight of the world that is holding onto her, so that she could heal up again. But the weight is too heavy, too big for her shoulders, and healing is not an option. So she'll just cry.

"If I could ask," Anya says, "Why are you so upset?"

It takes a minute for her to respond, a moment that is filled with 6 or 7 heartbeats before she speaks.

"She has everything now," Olivia murmurs, "Everything. She has Peter. She has a mother. And now she has a son. My son."

"I spent so long," she says weakly, "So long imagining a family. To be whole, finally. But…but now," she shakes her head, "There's no point. She has it. And I'm left with pieces, fragments- memories that- memories that I can't hold onto anymore. What's left for me Anya? Peter has his family, he has his Olivia. And I'm not her."

Anya watches her turn her face back down to her desk and close her eyes, exhaling deeply toward the wood. Anya raised her head from watching her to the door, where a very defeated looking Peter Bishop stood.

They were both broken.

* * *

He didn't come see her.

He didn't come to say goodbye.

He didn't tell anyone he was leaving anyway, or if he was even going. Maybe he wasn't gone, but just busy with _her_, loving _her_, smiling at _her_ to see Olivia drowning. But it's not like she was giving him a chance to talk to her either, because she avoided him like the plague, like he was a disease and she couldn't be infected with him _again_. Which was perhaps the reason she was hurting.

And so it hurt like hell, everyday, every hour, every _minute_ she was laying in her bed in the dark, every time she stood in her kitchen alone, every time she saw the single picture they had together. It hurt to sleep, to drink, to eat, to _swallow_. She was a big ball of hurt, unable or unwilling to put the pieces back together so she could live.

She wanted to be Anya right now, to become her. She wanted to trade places every now, so she didn't feel this hurt. Because she couldn't describe just how it felt to be shredded apart, her most intimate fantasies were gone, broken and she won't get them back. She'll never get them back.

So when Peter walked in, a baby boy in his arms in a tiny blue blanket, a miracle of life and the stealer of dreams, Olivia could stand no longer and she collapsed on the ground, feet giving way and buckling into a limbless pile underneath her. Vaguely she wondered if she _could_ die from a breaking heart, because that was _certainly_ what it felt like right that very second. She was tired. She was tired of holding on. Once upon a time she had a reason to hold on, to hang on and let him pull her up from her own drowning. But he was long gone. And now, so would she be.

And with that she let herself slip away, to succumb to the black depths of the coma that awaited her.

It wasn't quite death, but it would do.

* * *

tissue needed? or do you need a lighter to burn this story? tell me i need to know!


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry it took so long for this chapter, I wasn't entirely sure where I wanted it to go. Anyway, I found a direction and ran with it. Thank you to everyone who's been patient with this so far I'm so sorry it took so long.**

* * *

Peter is there, with Anya in her room. The news is heartbreaking, _devastating_ and Peter can barely hold it together in front of the man as he speaks. Anya has nothing in her expression and Peter can see why she lost her temper with the insane girl.

"I'm sorry Mr. Bishop," the man says, "But her body has shut down. I do not know how long she will be in a coma for."

"Can't you get her to wake up?"

"I'm sorry," he says again, seeing the anger flash across the younger man's face, "But we have tried. She simply does not want to wake."

Peter returns to his defeat position, head and body bent in anguish as his sits deeper into his seat, defeated. He can hardly believe this is his fault. It is almost impossible.

But it has happened. And it is his fault.

Inside Olivia's mind, she has found a safe haven. A soft pillow of warmth and sunshine nestled on the beach is where she awoke, on the edge of her mind where water laps at her feet. There is a warm breeze that is rustling the tall sand grass and she presses her face against the glass of her homes window, completely in peace with herself. Outside there is a man with his back to her and she knows instantly it is not Peter. She slides open the glass and steps out.

Her mind has created a safe haven in heaven, the perfect place to pretend. The beach is so innocent and simple and the warmth is something she has not felt in a long time. Beneath her feet the sand is soft and welcoming, and Olivia wants to sink away into it, to meld into her mind. The man standing in front of her is wearing striped shorts, red and white, the colors muted and she smiles a tight lipped grin. He feels her there and he turns to meet her eyes.

"What's up, buttercup?"

* * *

Anya watches Olivia's body, watching her face twitch. Her face looks relaxed, calm and peaceful, blonde hair tucked neatly underneath her head and down her back. Anya sits cross legged in her chair, arms in her lap as she says back and forth. Her wrists are bound by thick leather cuffs, but she doesn't mind so long as she's left alone. With her intensive gaze focused on solely on her as Peter stands in the corner, baby nestled safely in his arms.

From down the hall comes the soft pad of bare feet and the quiet roll of an I.V. stand. It takes every ounce of power not to turn her head and look at the intruding person, and she does not move, not until she hear Peter shift from behind her, his boots taking firm hold on the linoleum tiles.

"Is that her?"

It comes as a whisper and Anya turns her head to stare, her large and strange golden amber eyes as wide as moons. A red haired woman with matching features as the blonde haired one in bed stares at Anya. She looks tired, worn, but there is something so calculating in her gaze. She turns her eyes up to Peter and Anya sees it, sees the affection that she harbors for this man as he cradles the child and Anya _knows_, just _knows_, that this is the woman that's threatening to take it all away.

And she freaks.

"You!" she screeches, lunging like a rabid monkey for her, claws out, eyes wild, hair ablaze and the other Olivia ducks-but not fast enough-as the chain of Anya's leather bracelets hit her in the forehead and knock her down. The baby in Peter's arms is crying as Anya claws for her eyes. Peter's trying to grasp at Anya, screaming at the FBI agents in the hall to tear her away.

"Bitch!" she shrieks as she pulled away from the other Olivia, "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!"

And she loses control of herself when Olivia turns her false eyes up to Peter, so sad and full of tears and begs, "Peter make her stop."

And the flames burst forward from her skin, trying to wrap its grasp around the woman. She shrieks as the flames touch her skin, recoiling away and scooting closer to Peter's feet. Peter has the baby's face pressed to his chest and he's yelling at the guards.

"Get her out of here!" He yells

And they drag her away, Olivia's comatose body just forgotten.

* * *

"You're a bastard, you know that."

Her words are as cold as Olivia's skin when he left her there. Anya stares at him from the tiny excuse of a window of her cell/room. Golden amber in color, they are hard and without give. She is soulless. She lacks all the emotions that he feels and he can see it. They are different. But he couldn't see the difference between the Olivias.

"You're an animal," he answers, "You can't just attack people like that."

"You can't just expect her to be fine, after all this."

"I never did," he hisses back.

"You never gave her a chance!" she answers, pressing her palm against the glass in protest.

"She wouldn't give me a chance!" he shouts back, his anger at her not understanding finally bubbling over. "You would never understand! I don't belong!"

"She needed you!" Anya said, "And you've left her! You let _her_ get under your skin and look! Look whats happened!-"

"This is not my fault!"

"It is your fault! And now she's dying! It's all _your_ fault!"


	14. Chapter 14

**onto next chapter! I'm at 95 reviews? *sobs* you guys are so so so kind to me! Thank you so so so much it means the world to me! You are amazing, I'm crying! Anyway, here is the next chapter, kind of a turning point I think. Enjoy :)**

* * *

"You don't have to go back, you know?"

Sam talks to her as he sits with her in her mind, toes buried in the warm sand. She stares at the soothing and lapping waves in the edge of her mind. It's warm here, a feeling she has long forgotten and the gentle breeze caresses her blone hair across her face. Her arms wrap around her knees and she rests her head across the two comfortably eyes grazing over Sam and off into the distance. Her inner beach stretches on for forever. She sighs.

"But I do."

Sam grins.

"You don't have to do anything, buttercup, for anyone. So the worlds are falling apart, it's not your problem now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Sam says, sitting up straighter, "It's clear Peter made his choice, and well it wasn't _you_, so if the worlds fall apart it won't be your fault."

"He hasn't made his choice yet," Olivia whispers in a small voice.

"Really?" Sam says, standing up, "Then why are you acting like he has?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you _here_ Olivia," Sam asks and Olivia looks up to the warm sky, now clouding gray, "Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding."

"You're running Olivia. What are you running from?"

* * *

"I want her awake now."

Peter paces the floor of her room, baby bouncing in his arms as he rubs the child's back. The other Olivia has wandered back to her room and Astrid sits where Anya was, Anya being tucked away in her cell down the hall. The doctor is looking at Peter with an exsperated look.

"I can not do that, Mr. Bishop."

"What do you mean?" he argues, "Don't you have some sort of drugs to wake her?"

"We do."

"Then do that!"

"I can't, Mr. Bishop."

"Why not?" he nearly yells. "What the _fuck_ not?"

"Because," the doctor says calmly, "The last time she was in here, she signed over all her medical decisions to be made by Anya Buenefuente."

"Are you _serious_?" he snaps, the baby waking in his arms, "She's signed over dceisions to be made by a _clinically insane_ person?"

"Yes, Mr. Bishop," the doctor answers, "That's what it says right here."

"You do know she's _crazy?"_

The doctor gives him the look that reads they're all crazy there, standing around a woman whom may or may not wake up with a woman identical to her down the hall, but he does not say anything. Instead he places the clipboard at the end of the bed and turns to leave the room. Upset, Peter leans his head out the hall.

"That's it?" he cries out, "That's all? You won't help her because I'm not_ crazy? You can't do that!_ Come back here! Hey! That woman in there? I _love_ her!"

* * *

"Sign the form."

Anya's been presented with a form in her cell, a form that consents to the doctor waking up Olivia. Peter is out of time and out of patience. He's sick of sitting around and watching her twitch and breathe and lie still. Anya's eyes stare down at the paper, raking over the words without actually reading them before turning her amber eyes up to Peter's face. His face is cruel, harshly outlined in UV lighting as he stares at her.

"Don't look at me," he growls at her, "Sign the form."

Instead, her eyes are glued to him. He stares back at her, at odds with her as she refuses to respond to him. He hates her, _really_ hates her. She's whispered in Olivia's ear, drawn out the hurt longer. She made him say the words he swore he would never say to anyone. _She made him say he loves Olivia._

And maybe that's what's scaring the _shit_ out of him right now. Her powers of honesty baffles him, her ability to compell him to speak-astounding. Here she sits, no words, no emotions, completely blank and all he wants to do is spill angry words at her. She irritates him to no end and it's because she can see through him, almost literally. Her strange amber eyes don't help much either.

She picks up the pen without breaking eye contact.

A scream rips through the entire floor.

* * *

Olivia wakes from her mind kicking and screaming. Air flooding her lungs she lurches upright in her sheets. There is no one in her room when she comes back from her mind, panting and it's a few seconds later that Peter skids down the hallway, almost stopping in time as his feet keep going. He grips the doorframe to remain upright before Astrid almost crashes into him as he comes flying into the room.

It's an eerie replica of the last time she woke in the hospital. Peter is right there, only this time he wraps her into him, cradling her whole being into his body. Olivia clings to him as well, inhaling the wonderful scent of his leather jacket, memorizing the texture underneath her pads and the feel of it against her cheek. His hug is crushing, bruising but she does not feel it- holds him tighter- and her thoughts are fragments and breaks but they are all about him-his smile, his hug, his scent, him.

Anya appears quietly inside the room, just watching as Olivia clings to Peter who rocks her back and forth soothingly, brushing back blonde locks as she inhales quickly in loud pants. It's clear she's pulled out on her own accord, that her mind has either kicked her out or pushed her away, her inner invasion no longer welcome. And as Olivia stroked Peter's jacket softly, Peter places kisses behind her ear, on her forehead and in her hair.

"Peter," she murmurs, "Peter. Peter. Peter. Peter."

His name is like air from her lungs, each time she exhales it's said, soft and faint, as if she's not saying anything at all. Her mind revolted on her but she won't tell anyone that Sam kicked her out of her perfect beach in her mind and back into the cruel cold world that she has come to know. But Peter is warming her up as she is _freezing_ and she won't let go of him.

There's a soft crying from down the hall and Olivia thinks that the coma ward is on the same plane as the maternity ward. The wailing becomes louder and louder and Olivia tries to bury her face in Peter, trying to become Peter, inside Peter but the sound becomes so loud that Olivia lifts her head.

Alternate Olivia is standing in the door with Peter's child wailing in her arms, staring at herself staring at her. Olivia remembers everything then, what has happened to cause her to become this way rushes back.

And she clings to Peter now-not out of neccesity-but she clings with a new found poessiveness.

She'll fight to the death over him if that's what it takes.

* * *

short but packs a punch (i hope) what do you guys think? good? bad? awesome? terrible? I'd love to hear anything you have to say please :)


	15. Chapter 15

**100 REVIEWS? THIS IS CRAZY! do you know that this is the first story to ever reach 100 reviews that i've written? THANK YOU SO VERY VERY MUCH! you all are perfect, wonderful human beings! I would reward you with a super long chapter, but this is all i could fit (emotionally) in one chapter. **

**enjoy**

* * *

She's _everywhere_.

She's not _actually_ everywhere, but it feels like it. She's there in the lab, tainting everything in sight with her red hair and wild eyes, she's there in the Bishop home, a nursery that _should've_ been hers, and she's there in her bed in the form a soundly sleeping stubbled face next to her while she lies awake. She's trying, she really is, but her heart is hurting still. Even though her alter is safely tucked away in a Massive Dynamic owned apartment with her own secruity detail, Olivia feels that at any moment she will come bursting through the door and demand to have the life she pretended to have, back.

Peter notices this in the morning, when he rounds the corner in silence, towel draped dangerously low on his waist as she hummed in the kitchen. He padded quielty into the kitchen and stopped.

"Smells good," he said and the pan in Olivia's hand drops. Before it hits the floor she had spun around to face him, set in a defensive position. He puts up his hands in defensive, the universal white flag, and the towel on his hips drops even lower.

"Jesus Peter," Olivia said, "You scared me."

"I figured," he answered, eyes narrowed.

He knows something is off, but doesn't know what.

* * *

"So," Anya says as she balances on the railing in the lab, "What brought you back?"

"Excuse me?" Olivia turns her face up to Anya as she balances on the ledge. She doesn't look as if she were going to fall, but looks comfortable watching Olivia.

"Out of your coma," Anya says, "You know, why did you come back screaming?"

"I was falling."

"Off of what?"

"The edge of my mind."

"Oh," Anya said, stratching up to try and touch the light fixture with her outstretched fingers, "Did you fall, jump or was pushed?"

"That's not really your business is it?" Olivia said, not really wanting to talk about just how she got back. Anya shrugs.

"Okay," she answers, hopping off the railing and dancing down the steps. Olivia watches her as she dances on her tiptoes, looking so graceful and small. She wonders briefly if she would ever look that perfect in a white hospital gown, but doubts it. Anya gives a hint of a soulless smile as she lands in front of Olivia. She notes the frown marks on her face and she cocks her head curiously.

"Is there something wrong?"

But she has no idea.

* * *

There are flowers on her desk.

She's not really a huge fan of flowers at all, but she smiles when she sees them anyway, happy that someone had thought of her. They are beautiful yellow roses, 12 of them and there is a card attached. She stalks over to them, circling the beautiful colors and plucks the card up and opens it.

_Just for being you_.

She knows they are from Peter because the card is _soaked_ in his scent and she holds it to her face, inhaling and smiling. She outreaches and strokes the petals between her fingers. Is so nice and so simply she can't stop the smile that's stretched across her face, radiant and beautiful as the flowers on her desk. She shucks her jacket off and leaves it on the back of her chair. Briefly she sees a blanket of little baby Henry's tucked in the corner by Peter's desk.

But today she thinks nothing of it. Those flowers were perfect. Nothing could ruin her day.

And Peter watches her smile and dance from outside in the lab.

* * *

"So, this will help you to control the flames, and this will help you see things from the other side," Walter says as he drugs Anya, "There are three things in this room from the other side."

It just so happens that-with the awkwardness-Peter, Henry and Alter Olivia are here today, watching. Alternate Olivia is sitting in the corner, watching everything that is going on while Peter stands a few feet away with the baby in his arms. He's closer to Olivia and not _her_ and it makes her feel good that he's standing closer. Jealously was always a large pill for her to swallow.

And it's still stuck in her throat.

Anya nods and closes her eyes as Walter inserts the drugs. They all stand still for a few moments before Anya opens her eyes and she smiles.

"Wow!" she exclaims and for the first time she is _happy_ sounding. The smile spreads across her face. "I can feel again!"

"What?" Olivia stutters in amazement but Peter does not fall for it.

"I knew it," Peter snarls, "You were faking it the whole time. Who the hell are you? What do you want from us?"

"Peter!" Olivia says, turning to him. Anya looks at Peter and then at Olivia eyes, wide, terrified. Tears are touching her cheeks.

"Is everyone from the other universe so cruel?" Anya whispers.

"This is very important," Walter says, "Anya, what day is it today?"

"It's September 23, 2003. It's my 16th birthday."

* * *

WHAT? mental recession! why do the drugs walter gives anya make her recess? why is altolivia staying? did you like it? did you hate it? tell me pleaseee


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